


Turn, Turn, Turn

by babydraco



Category: Historical RPF, Political RPF - US 20th c., The Trial of the Chicago 7
Genre: 1960s, Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Canon Jewish Character, Crack Treated Seriously, Discussion of Abortion, F/M, Het, Other, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Sexism, Pregnancy, Rule 63, movie canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:35:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27449467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babydraco/pseuds/babydraco
Summary: She's a smart girl.  She wasn't supposed to let this happen.  And with him!
Relationships: Abbie Hoffman/Tom Hayden
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

_You cry and moan and say it will work out  
But honey child I've got my doubts  
You can't see the forest for the trees  
So, don't get me wrong it's not that I'm knockin'  
It's just that I am not in the market  
For a boy who wants to love only me  
_ -Linda Ronstadt

Kunstler had warned them about the crowd, about the things people were going to shout at them. And it was absolutely horrible, and deafening and creatively misogynistic and racist. It went on nearly every day of the trial, certain faces in the crowd were becoming familiar. 

Abbi had already thrown up once that morning, she'd blamed it on nerves and blamed it on nerves again while fleeing to the courthouse ladies room. Her face in the mirror after heaving was sallow and the bags under her eyes were enormous. She saw Gerri come in out of the corner of her eye as she dug around in her crocheted bag for any dregs of makeup that might be in there. 

Gerri must have noticed how she held an arm protectively over her stomach, as she'd been doing unconsciously for days.

“Do you need a pad?” her friend asked. “Cause I don't have any.”

“I don't think I'm gonna need one of those for awhile.” Three months so far of no bleeding and a cheap test from the drugstore (purchased for her in secret by Kunstler's secretary) had pretty much confirmed that. 

“Aww man. I found a test in the trash back at Kunstler's, thought I just didn't remember taking it but this makes more sense.”

“Yeah. So, that's exactly what we all needed right now.” Abbi pulled herself up onto the counter. “People always said I'd end up pregnant or in jail, and I think I'm pregnant and I might be going to jail. So yay.”

“Do you know whose it is?” Gerri asked.

“It's mine, Ger.”

“I mean, like you know I mean, who's the accidental unknowing dad? Do we know him?” She gasped when Abbi, embarrassed, tried to look anywhere but at her. “How long has _that_ been going on? You and him? Is it serious?”

“Who else in our group would I be fucking?” Abbi buried her face in her hands. “Off and on since last year. We try to pretend it's not a thing, I guess we thought doing it would get all that tension out of our systems. It didn't work, now we just feel worse when we argue. Making up is too fun, you start arguing and then you hear those Whole Lotta Love guitar riffs and you're on each other and boom, there's a possible baby. The last time I saw a doctor, they wouldn't give me those new birth control pills cause I'm not married, which is the dumbest fucking thing ever, not that I have health insurance anyway.”

“And just try getting a dude to think about a condom,” Gerri said glumly. "I was with this dude who went to Catholic school, he didn't even know they were a thing."

“Yeah..." Abbi said. "He's nothing less than a total gentleman, he means well, but I know he's not exactly thinking with his brain at that point. And, not gonna lie, neither am I! I get all wet when he rolls up the sleeves of his shirt and starts making one of those intense speeches. It's adorable!” 

"Do you want to have a kid now?"

"Dunno. It feels nice, knowing there might be a life inside me, trying to find a way, and my friend gets to be the dad I should be happy, I should feel like a queen. Except, there's all the rest of it and the rest is awful." Abbi kept catching herself looking at baby clothes in store windows. She had always wanted to be a mom someday, when the work was done, when things calmed down, not-not in the middle of a highly public trial. She hadn't expected there'd be so many panic attacks involved.

“He wants a political career,”Gerri pointed out. “You could be like, a Congressman's wife. Or, the first First Lady who doesn't shave her legs.” 

“I care about him, but listen, if signing my name Mrs. Thomas Hayden, is what being someone's wife means, I'd rather be alone. He can't even run his own life, I'll be damned if he'll run mine.”

“You could always hyphenate.” Gerri shrugged.

“Why are you pushing for this so much? You want to come live with us or something?”

“Well, maybe.”

“Forget it, sister. Don't go blabbing to him either, it'll ruin everything.” Abbi hopped down from the counter. “Ready to face the lions?”

Tom was at the defense table, organizing his notes when Gerri sidled up. She casually examined her nails, which she'd stuck little gold star stickers all over. 

“Sooo, Abbi's pregnant. Which she said not to tell anyone, specifically you, about, because it would 'ruin everything' so don't tell _her_ I was the one who told you.”

What? _What_? **_WHAT?_**. Was he having a psychotic break from all the stress?

“But why doesn't she want me to know? I admit I'm a little freaked but-” _A little freaked_ was an understatement. Not even lunch yet and he might have just started a family with a woman he had very complicated feelings toward. “Am I? Is it mine?” 

Gerri raised her eyebrows at him pointedly as if to say “Duhh.” His breakfast was trying to come back up. He didn't know if Abbi had been with anyone else but the eight of them had spent most of their time with each other lately. 

“If she keeps it, you're kinda stuck with each other forever, whether or not you get married. She's just as strong willed, and independent as you are, and just as much of a leader, and Abbi won't be owned by anyone, you know that. You think she'd be proud if her checks had your name on them? No way. Anyway, you're a dude and dudes change when they get a chick pregnant. You get weird or you take off.”

If she keeps it. Tom kept getting stuck on that part. It wasn't like he was judging her, he was obviously a progressive guy and he'd read all the right think pieces, but he knew she didn't have the money to have the procedure or a kid. No matter what else, he could never just leave a friend in that situation. 

“I'm just saying, you gotta prove yourself to her. Prove you can stand up but you know when to back off. And if she keeps it and you make her regret that by draining away her identity and freedom, if you hurt her, I will find you and fuck you up.”

“Okay, cool,” he said, because he didn't know how else to respond. Despite her height of approximately five foot four, Gerri was fully capable of carrying out that threat. Gerri peeled off one of her gold star stickers, stuck it to his forehead and wandered off. But he didn't get a chance to speak to Abbi, she deliberately ignored him all day. He didn't get his chance the next day or the day after that, either. Fortunately, they couldn't go on avoiding each other forever and he finally got a moment to ask if he could buy her a coffee. She seemed hesitant and suspicious, but agreed. 

They walked to a hole in the wall coffee place he'd seen earlier, where a local musician was murdering a cover of Daydream Believer. Tom paid for the coffees and a grilled cheese to split between them. Walking back to the table, he noticed how exhausted Abbi looked. He should have said something supportive, but instead he blurted out-

“Nice dress, was the thrift store having a sale?” He cringed as a hurt look flashed in her big dark eyes. It actually was a nice dress, ankle length, floaty green fabric with brown and gold flowers. Clearly, despite the habit of pulling her pig tails and running away, it wasn't the time or place to needle her. 

“Fifty cents at the flea market,” she retorted. “It says a lot about what you think of poor people that you think 'got it at the thrift store' is an insult. Grow up.” 

“You grow up first.” 

She was laughing at him behind her coffee cup, which was in no way an indication he hadn't hurt her feelings but at least it meant he was kind of forgiven. 

“Is this a date?"Abbi asked. "Because you probably don't want to field that question of whether or not we dated, when you run for office someday.” 

“Wait.” Tom put his coffee down. “You think me getting you pregnant is worse for my career than being on trial for starting the Chicago riots?”

An awkward silence descended when they both realized he'd revealed he already knew what she hadn't yet wanted to tell him. Tom must have said it too loudly, heads turned in their direction. She blinked, grimaced, then pulled herself together remarkably well.

“We're all on trial for the riots. But, as far as I know, only two of us fucked and you care about respectability. I bet if we were a real couple, you'd want me to straighten my hair, shave all the time, maybe get a nose job, don't be so loud, wear a bra, to fit in with the world you hope will keep accepting you. Meanwhile, all the shiksas make fun of me behind my back.”

“I don't want to make you change. I want you, not a Stepford Wife. I can make compromises, I can be flexible.”

“Sure, Tom, I believe you,” Abbi said, in a tone indicating she didn't believe him. “You like following the rules, though, you care what people think, and you always compromise in favor of them, not me. Anyway, other people will do it to us. They find out we're together, then I publicly become yours. Once they see us like that, everything I say or think or do, is filtered through you. I'll only exist to prop up the narrative people want to tell about _you_ in the future. Some asshole screenwriter who has a problem with women will just...push me to the side, when he makes the movie about our trial, like I didn't do just as much work as you.”

“I was thinking about a whole different type of danger, to be honest. I guess because I'm a man.”

“Like I was saying.” Abbi rolled her eyes. 

“I had a nightmare last night. We were getting married-”

“Oh, thanks.”

“ You're the one who doesn't want marriage, you were _just telling me that_. We were in this gorgeous clearing in the forest, crystal clear running streams, a silent family of deer watching, gauzy clothes, all that, basically your dream weirdo hippie wedding that somehow made it into my head. All our friends and family were waiting, I was standing by one of those little canopy things-”

“The chuppah. What song did we use?”

“You walked out to Crimson and Clover. Stop interrupting and stop laughing.”

“No, your subconscious has great musical taste,"Abbi said. " _Please go on_.” At this point, the local musician over heard them, thought they had requested Crimson and Clover, and started trying to play it. 

“You were carrying wildflowers, or maybe we stole them from someone's yard. Allen Ginsberg walked you down the aisle, I guess in my dream, I thought he was your dad. You came towards me, it was all about to happen exactly the way we wanted it to-in my dream- and then you fell in slow motion, a red stain spreading across your dress. None of us hear the first gunshot, but we hear the others as we're diving for safety. You're out there, alone and hurt and I can't get to you in the panic. It's like watching Bobby in that hotel kitchen all over again. I woke up thinking about bringing a child into a life where a scenario like that is possible.”

“Any kid we have-” Abbi murmured. 

“Has a target on its back from birth. They're out there killing people like us. I do want the baby, but we're not normal and its life won't be either.”

“The moment we got...entangled...," Abbi said, "when we turned into something that might be more than friends, we put each other in danger. Having a kid will make it worse. I already get the kind of letters and phone calls you don't, first for being a woman having opinions in public, and second, because there are people who still can't handle the idea that people like me and Gerri are still allowed to exist despite their efforts only a generation ago. That's one reason why me and Gerri are 'militant' in the first place. Part of me thinks I should have lots of babies just to spite them, what's the point of any of this without someone to leave it to? But...”

But the woman he'd only seen get scared just before half the Chicago police department took off their badges and threw her through a plate glass window, was clearly afraid for herself and her potential child. Every choice she made was a public statement and this would be a life changing one. Leader of a movement, or _Mother of a Movement_? 

“There's not a lot of time left to decide. I said how I feel but I can't and I won't choose for you.” Ending it was just as dangerous as keeping it, or so he'd read in horrifying exposes about shady doctors. Tom had put Abbi in a terrible position at the worst time. And she didn't think he could stand up for her and let her have her freedom at the same time. 

“Yeah, I know. I'd never speak to you again if you tried.” 

“I'll try to get you some money," Tom said, " and you can uh, use it to see a doctor for whatever you need. We must know someone in the movement who knows where the accommodating doctors in Chicago are. If we had universal healthcare-”

“ I've been helping girls do it for years. Finding the doctors, going with them to the appointment. I just never thought I'd find myself here.”

"Did you know Gerri said if I hurt you, she'll hurt me?" Tom asked. 

"And how was that?" Abbi smirked.

"Like being threatened by a cute little garden gnome."

But back at the courthouse,Tom wanted to cry as he watched her walk back to her seat at the defense table. She was right though, he had to grow up now.

Against all odds, they won their case. Kunstler had a party back at his offices the night they were all released. It was a bitter sweet victory, filled with a realization that their own government was far worse than they ever thought. For all the ones who stood up and clapped, some people had walked out or sat there with sour looks on their faces, they hadn't changed as many hearts and minds as they'd hoped. But it was enough, it was enough to bring back hope. 

“Do you think that there's an alternate universe where we're both taller?”Gerri asked. Gerri and Abbi lay sprawled on the by now, sadly familiar, decrepit old couch (better not mention to anyone this was the couch she got pregnant on). They'd lost their shoes somewhere. Gerri had, at some point in the last few days, painted her toenails red, white, and blue, with little American flags on the big toes.

“What, because in that one, we're men or something? I guess I'd be a lot taller. You, not so much. We'd look like that cartoon with the two guys with the mismatched heights.”

“Rocky and Bullwinkle. Did you tell him that he's officially gonna be a dad? I mean, the hero of the hour?”

“Didn't have time.” It had been an impulsive choice, after seeing how bravely Tom had proved himself in court. That was the sign she'd been searching for, _that_ was the man she wanted as father to her baby. Abbi pressed a palm to her stomach. Telling him she'd made her decision couldn't wait any longer. 

“You have to tell him before someone else does. It has to come from you.”

“People are kind of staring at me like they've figured it out. One of the photographers at court got up awful close.” 

“Because you're drinking a plain Coke and you're not getting high. It's confusing them. Plus, you all of a sudden started wearing ponchos. Ooh I love this song-”Gerri got up, twirling dreamily. “laaadadada goood morrning, starshine...”

“Where is he anyway?” 

“Huh?”

“TOM? Overbearing ginger dude?”

“I think he left? Saw him go outside.”

Truthfully, Tom was exhausted. His throat still burned from his efforts to read out thousands of names without pausing, it hurt to talk and he didn't really want to go to a party. What he needed instead was a long nap somewhere safe and quiet. He wanted to go home, real home, with his own bed. Tom shoved his cold hands in the pocket of his peacoat. If he could speak to Abbi one more time, before it was over, it would make the night less lonely. 

“Tom!”

That song from _Hair_ floated out the open windows. He could barely hear his name being called over the party music as he turned toward the voice. 

_Good morning, Starshine  
The earth says, hello  
you twinkle above us  
twinkle below,_

Abbi ran toward him, feet bare on the freezing brick walkway, her wild, thick hair losing its battle with bobbi pins and a flower crown. Pink and white petals fell from the crown to the sidewalk. His heart pounded before she even opened her mouth and said what he hoped she'd come out here to say. 

“Tom, wait!” she blurted out. “Don't leave yet. I wanna do it and I don't care if we have to hide. I can't promise anything else, but I want to have a baby with you.” 

In moments, she was soft in his arms, under the glow of the streetlamp. 

“By the way,” Tom said in between frantic kisses, “you know, there's these things they invented called _shoes_.”


	2. Please, Come to Boston

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom takes us through the next 50 years in this bittersweet alternate ending.
> 
> warning for mentions of infidelity and suicide

**Approximately Nine Months Later**

“Not gonna lie, it was rough,” Gerri said as she escorted him past the cheering well wishers who had somehow found out what hospital Abbi was giving birth in. Tom found himself scanning the crowd for threats. “We mistimed it, thought I'd have to deliver the baby myself in the cab. Don't really know how to do that.”

“Well, you're good at thinking on your feet,” Tom said.

" She was in a lot of pain. She almost broke my hand when she grabbed it and made me swear on Janis Joplin, I'd protect her kid if she didn't make it."

Abbi was asleep when they reached her room. Now that Tom was there, Gerri took this opportunity to curl up in a chair within reach of Abbi and nap, practiced at grabbing sleep whenever and wherever. 

The nurse entered in a moment with a small thing wrapped in a fuzzy pink blanket.

“Congratulations, sir, you're the father of a healthy baby girl.” She placed his tiny,perfect daughter in his arms. “You can take her home as soon as Mommy feels better.” Left alone with a sleeping baby and two sleeping women, Tom felt at peace. He sang softly to the baby, the first song which came to mind, which was the song playing in the car on the drive over. 

“ _Have I ever told you  
how good it feels to hold you  
it isn't easy to explain  
And though I'm really trying-”_

“Who's singing Tommy James?” Gerri muttered. 

“It's not Tommy James, it's The Vogues,” Abbi said from the bed. How long had she been awake listening? 

“It's not either of them, it's-” Tom started to argue, not wanting to admit he had no idea either. 

“Heeeey sexy,” Abbi interrupted. 

“Hey, yourself. How are you feeling?”

“They gave me the gooood drugs,” she slurred with a woozy grin.

“I can tell. You won't remember any of this tomorrow.”

“I wrote down a name for the baby. Gerri has it.” Abbi gestured, Gerri pulled a scrap of paper from her jeans pocket and handed it to Tom. What stoned disaster of a name had she come up with? Apple? Moon Unit? 

_Ruth Marie Hayden_. 

“Oh, thank God.”

“What do you mean 'oh thank Gawd'? Admit it, you thought I was gonna give her a weird name like Pilot Inspektor or Rainbow. Or just, like, let her go through life as Baby Girl Hoffman.” Abbi snatched the paper back, scratched out 'Marie' and wrote 'Galadriel'. She stared at Tom, as if daring him to complain. 

**1970s**

Tom touched down outside Boston on a winter night, arriving at the small condo he was helping Abbi pay for, just as dark was falling. As Abbi opened the door, Ruthie, in her little white dress, continued singing her Chanukah song in the living room. She turned toward her father with a big smile. 

“Hey, Ruthie Tuesday, you should tell Tom about the menorah,”Abbi suggested gently, ruffling her hair as she passed by. Ruthie's hair now looked like she'd stuck her finger in a light socket. He bent down to give her a big hug and kiss.

“It came all the way from Russia with Great Grandpa Hoffman! Which isn't even his real name but I can't say his real name because it's from Russia! But I have to wait til I'm grownup to light the candles so Abbi does it. We do a prayer and a song and then I get a present!” 

Tom smelled roasting chicken, potatoes and...were those cinnamon donuts?

“Smells great, right? Gerri's cooking tonight,” Abbi said. 

“I didn't know Puff the Magic Dragon could make anything other than a Molotov Cocktail,” Tom commented.

Gerri peered around the doorway, spatula in hand. 

“Once I got off the d-r-u-g-s, I discovered all sorts of life skills I forgot I had. Turns out, I'm really good at math too.”

Ruthie tugged on his hand excitedly.

“Aunt Gerri's making l-a-t-k-e-s!”

**1980s**

His wife tried, she really did, to accept that when they were young, Tom and Abbi had been through a highly emotional, traumatizing situation together and that this bond had produced a child. It was, of course, easier to accept this when the child spent most of their time on the opposite coast. It was much harder when the same, now motherless, child moved in a few years later. 

While Tom thought Abbi and his wife were both good mothers, who simply had different views on what that meant, his wife didn't agree. She saw Ruthie as “disrespectful” because she did things like call adults by their first names and refused to accept concepts like a curfew and going to school. Ruthie had been taught to treat everyone equally, her respect had to be earned, she meant no harm by it. It did not smooth things over when Tom gave Ruthie a box of her mother's things and a guitar. 

Once, his wife had lost it and shouted, “you still love your goddamn dead ex more than me!” and gone to stay with her parents. Tom didn't have the heart to tell her it was true. She could never compete with the force of nature that Abbi had been and the harder she tried to mold herself into the perfect politician's wife, the more obvious this became. Tom also didn't have the heart to tell his wife that Abbi had never exactly been an ex. Due to distance and scheduling, their sexual encounters had grown less frequent but had never entirely stopped. 

None of this was his wife's fault. It wasn't her fault he'd given his heart away before they ever met. 

She chose not to come with him to see Ruthie sing at her school talent show. In the crowded auditorium, Tom spotted a face he knew, although the hair was now blonde instead of brunette, and she wore a pantsuit, an uncharacteristic choice for the woman. But he'd know her anywhere. 

“Hey, G-”

She turned, and held out her hand, giving him the sort of smile you give a stranger.

“Hi, Julie Fineman.”

“Right! Right.” After all, _Gerri Rubin_ was on the FBI's Most Wanted List so _Gerri Rubin_ couldn't possibly show up at a suburban high school talent show. “I haven't seen you at the PTA, do you have a kid in the show?”

“My niece is singing. Couldn't miss her big debut.” 

“Come sit with us, we have an extra seat,” Tom offered. He should be telling her that he didn't want her coming anywhere near his family after the things she'd done, but Ruthie needed all the support she could get tonight. Ruthie was closing out the first half of the show. When she shyly walked out under the single spotlight, barefoot, a tie dye headband around her thick curls, Tom felt a lump in his throat. 

“She looks just like...”

“Her mom,”Gerri finished quietly.

The room gradually grew silent as Ruthie began to strum. 

_Hey Jude, don't make it bad  
Take a sad song, and make it better  
Remember, to let her into your heart  
Then you can start, to make it better,_”

**Present Day or Thereabouts**

“ Ruth Galadriel Hoffman Hayden Zimmerman, I had to find out from the news that you got arrested at a protest in LA. Why didn't you call? You could've let me fix it for you,” Tom said as soon as his daughter answered her phone. 

“One,”Ruthie said, “I'm in my fifties and I make good money, I should be able to bail myself out. Two, how would that look if I got to go free because I have political connections?”

“The activist in me is proud of you for that,” Tom said. “The Dad part doesn't want you spending five minutes in jail.”

“ It's LA and I won a Grammy last year, they weren't going to throw the book at me. Tell me you're going to watch my PBS special tonight. I tell the story about how you fell in love with Abbi when she showed up to bail you out with like a crowd of two hundred people.”

“That's true, I did. She was so brave, I need you to know that.”

“What's brave about killing yourself?” Ruthie asked. 

“ I went to see this therapist to talk about Abbi's death, and she said, it's not any of our faults. It wasn't even your mom's fault. The therapist said it's because her brain didn't work right, but I don't agree. Abbi's brain worked exactly the way it was supposed to. It's the rest of the world that's 'disordered'. To know...that you're right, when everyone else is calling you crazy, it pushes you over the edge. Behind the jokes and costumes, Abbi was serious about the fight. That takes a psychological toll on a person. She'd call me up, drunk and crying, saying the government was watching her. Was I supposed to tell her she was mistaken, just a paranoid aging hippie having a bad trip? She was right! Hell, they were watching me until the 90s.

I think she stayed as long as she did because of you. I just try to remember it's not us she was trying to leave, we're not the reason she wanted off this planet.”

“Sometimes, if I think too hard about things, I can understand that thought process,”Ruthie said. “Which I need to talk to my own therapist about. Poor Aunt Gerri, though, with the way she went. I'm not trying to be funny, but she literally didn't know what hit her. You know, when I was little, I didn't know Molotov Cocktails were bombs, I thought she was a bartender until I was like, ten. Anyway, I wanted to bring Jake and the kids for Thanksgiving, if you're feeling better."

After the call ended, Tom shuffled over to the side table, where he lit his annual yahrzeit candle for Abbi He whispered the prayer he'd taken great pains to learn from his daughter's rabbi. He touched Abbi's framed photo. After the night nurse helped him with his bedtime routine and medication, Tom got into bed to watch Ruthie's tv special. He fell into a deep sleep to the sounds of her gravely alto covering an old Seekers song, switching effortlessly from English to Yiddish. 

_There's a new world somewhere  
They call the promised land  
And I'll be there someday  
If you could hold my hand  
I still need you there beside me  
No matter what I do  
For I know I'll never find another you  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Please, Come to Boston](https://youtu.be/TedXFSUUboY) (by Dave Loggins, is a song about two people who fall in love when they're young but get caught up in a long distance relationship for years and never quite end up together)  
> [Baby, I Love You](https://youtu.be/JZxQusF3GUs) (the 1969 version by Andy Kim)  
> [ Hey, Jude](https://youtu.be/A_MjCqQoLLA) (The Beatles)  
> [Another You](https://youtu.be/wZf41UudAbI) (The Seekers. Yes, this is a different song than the one used previously at the end of this fic. I no longer felt comfortable using my original choice For Reasons so I tried to find one with a similar theme and feel. Or feel free to substitute with the Yiddish version of [Hallelujah](https://youtu.be/XH1fERC_504)). 
> 
> Just to note, both Ruthie, and Tom's offscreen wife, are not based on any real people

**Author's Note:**

> It was tough to decide who I'd end up 'swapping', basically a coin toss. I almost went with an All Lesbian High School AU (a period appropriate one where they just happen to all be at the same school) or one where they're all Gilded Age suffragettes. Plot bunnies, free to a good home. 
> 
> I did delete the "crack pairing" tag, because I realized it isn't a crack pairing to me. I just used that tag because I thought I'd need a way to backpedal if people reacted badly. I do not know why I thought that would happen. I've written so much worse about other characters? 
> 
> I'm also not sure why girl!Jerry isn't named "Judy". 
> 
> [Title song](https://youtu.be/5_YsQu5tKEE)  
> [Daydream Believer](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xvqeSJlgaNk)  
> [Different Drum](https://youtu.be/w9qsDgA1q8Y)  
> [Crimson and Clover](https://youtu.be/JG3RGwa1J1s), the song from Tom's wedding dream  
> [Good Morning, Starshine,](https://youtu.be/whmzEXywq40), the song referenced at the end. A lovely video all on its own. Although it's mostly not archival footage, it's modern, there is a great Abbie lookalike in there.


End file.
